Between Two Lungs
by sad-sea-song
Summary: A short, cute Destiel thing. :) Sick!Cas and Dean share a kiss- Dean is in denial.


Sometimes the heat was too much. When they looked at each other, when ocean met forest, Castiel wondered if it was possible to love with just the eyes. He thought every night, as he watched Dean's chest softly rise and fall, how it could be that such an ancient and celestial all-powerful being like himself could feel so crushed and devoted to this small, sad man. Love was love, he told himself, using the eyes of his vessel to trace the shadows under Dean's eyes.

On a hot July night in Maryland, Sam, engulfed in his research, headed out to a local coffee shop so he would not wake Dean while on the phone with Bobby. Before leaving, he called Castiel to let him know where they were, so he could come to them if they needed help. Around midnight, Dean awoke, sat up in the dingy hotel bed, and reached for his phone, texting Sam back. He looked up at the noise of a flutter of wings, and then a thud. Dean jumped up, tossing the cellphone aside. Castiel was a crumpled heap on the floor, nose bleeding and the whites of his eyes fluttering.

"_Cas!" _ Dean lifted the angel by the armpits, laid him on the bed and eased him out of the bloody trenchcoat. "Cas, what happened?"

"I- I guess I've been traveling too much. I'm slowly becoming human, Dean. It's getting harder for me to do this."

"Yeah? Well then next time, instead of zapping yourself here, take a cab." Dean brought to the coat to the sink next to the minifridge, and began sponging it down. He glanced up in the mirror.

Castiel, in response, glared at Dean. "Dean, you understand that the damage-" his sentence was cut off by a spasm of hacking coughs, which spattered the fluffy hotel bedspread with flecks of phlegmy blood.

Dean abandoned his work on the coat, and ran to his friend's side. He sat down on the bed beside him, lifted tissue after tissue to the angel's face, wiping away the sickness. As Castiel's body shuddered and shook with fever, Dean kept close, placing a cool washcloth to his forehead and bringing him a glass of water.

"Thank you."

"Hey, no p-" before Dean could register what was happening, Castiel was kissing him. His hands were in his hair, gripping his shoulders, eyes shut and lips warm and salty with sweat and blood. _This is what Heaven should be like, _thought Castiel. _Kissing you._

Dean pulled away, pushing Castiel to the further edge of the bed, jumping up. "What the _HELL, _man?!"

Castiel broke into a million pieces.

He withered up, died inside. If kissing Dean was Heaven, then being rejected by him, seeing the look of disgust and regret in his eyes, was Hell. He drew himself in tight, wrapping his arms around himself. "I'm sorry, Dean. I was under the influence that you shared the feeling."

"_BULLSHIT. _Cas, I'm straight. I don't like dudes, how many times have I said _I don't swing that way?!_ You _KNOW _ I'm straight. Just cause you've got some big old gay crush on me doesn't mean you gotta act on it."

Castiel didn't cry, he didn't protest, apologize. Instead, he looked up at Dean, for what he knew would be the last time for a long time. "I thought you were better than this."

And then he was gone. He fled once more, knowing that whatever pain that using his angelic abilities would bring could not even touch the hurt he just went through.

As soon as he was gone, Dean sat down on the bed, still warm from where Castiel had been lying. He put his head in his hands, and sighed. Dear God. He knew it, he'd always known it. People only looked at one another the way Castiel looked at Dean when there was some romantic aspect involved. _Christ, he'd KNOWN. _If only he'd said something. Dean went to the kitchenette, grabbed a beer. As he turned around to head back to the bed, he caught sight of the trenchcoat, still in the sink. The sponge still lay on top, from where Dean had been cleaning it for him only moments earlier. He sighed again.

He turned on the TV to take his mind off of it, but nothing seemed to work. Nothing distracted him- not TV, not the Internet, not eating, or even getting drunk. All he could think was _Cas loves me. He kissed me. I screamed at him. _He put down his fifth beer, thinking maybe he should get some sleep. He was just settling down, when he heard a car stop outside, and his brother walked in the door, looking at his phone and running a hand through his long hair. "Hey, Dean. Whoa- what's wrong?"

Dean, eyes bloodshot, drunk, half-asleep, watching a soap opera, grinned at his brother. "Hey Sammy. Nothing much- the beer just makes this show about ten times sadder," he slurred.

"Right…" Sam eyed him warily.

Around three in the morning, Castiel was in a hotel halfway across the state, coughing up blood, sicker than he'd ever been, feeling naked and vulnerable without his coat. Finally, feeling defeated, he added a soul-wrenching sob to each cough, added tears to blood. He collapsed, exhausted.

"Dean?"

"What? Sam, I was almost asleep."

"Sorry." Sam cleared his throat.

Silence.

"_What?"_

"Dean, did something happen?"

"What? No, I told you. Just drunk and tired."

Sam turned on the light. "Dean, stop. I know you better than that. You only get this way when you're really, really upset."

Dean absentmindedly let his gaze drift towards the sink. Sam followed.

"_IS THAT CAS'S COAT?" _ Sam stood up, noticing the blood staining multiple areas of the garment.

Dean grunted in reply. Sam picked it up and whipped towards him. "What happened to Cas? Dean, he's my friend too. _Tell me."_

"Nothing happened, okay? We got in a fight, and he vanished. He forgot his coat."

"You _beat him up? _Dean, what the Hell happened?"

"I didn't beat anyone up!" Dean shouted. "He got sick."

Sam sat down beside Dean., and placed a hand on his arm. "Dean," he spoke quietly, choosing his words carefully. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

"_What? _No!" Dean tried his best to look taken aback. Sam looked at Dean, an expression of what looked almost like sympathy in his eyes. He patted Dean on the shoulder, got back into bed, and clicked off the light. _He knows. _Dean silently cursed at himself.

"Goodnight, Dean."

_"I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition. My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the lord."_

_ "Don't ever change."_

_ "….The other angel, the one in the dirty trenchcoat who's in love with you."_

_ "I need you."_

Over and over again. All Dean could do was replay every single exchange with him in his head. He felt empty without Cas's watchful gaze, but full of longing to make things right. There was an odd feeling in his chest, a feeling he'd only felt before when he'd previously been with Cassie, or Lisa. With a start, he realized that the reason he hadn't noticed it before was that it was there whenever he was with or thought of Cas, and that was, well, all the time; every second of every day. He had to talk to Castiel.

He locked himself in the bathroom with his cellphone, hands shaky. _He's not going to pick up. He hates me. He'll never talk to me again. I'm not going to get a chance to-_

_ "_Hello?" The angel's voice was crackly and raw.

"Where are you?"

"Dean, I don't want to talk to you."

Dean cleared his throat, wiped the sweat off of his brow. "_Please, _Cas."

Castiel paused. "Talbot Landing Motel. Secretary. Room 117." He hung up.

Dean, not wasting any time, grabbed Cas's coat from the kitchen and fumbled with the keys to the door. Sam sat up, asked where the Hell he was going.

"To fix Cas," answered Dean. He got into the Impala, turned on the radio, and swerved out of the parking lot. He sped his way through the entire hour-long drive to Secretary. If a cop had seen his driving, he wouldn't have even been able to afford the ticket.

He arrived at the Talbot Landing, a smallish, quaint little building that Dean, himself, wouldn't have chosen as a safe haven. The door to room 117 was unlocked, and Dean burst through.

Castiel was sitting on the bed, staring at his hands. He looked up, and the two held eye contact, no different than any of their other millions of stare downs, filled with meaning and adoration.

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered. He fell into Cas, kissing him like he'd never kissed anyone else. "So sorry." Castiel tasted as he had before, of salt and blood, but also of fresh snow, aftershave, mint, and faintly, ketchup. Dean ran a hand through Castiel's hair, pulled back, pressed his forehead to his.

"Castiel?" he breathed. Cas closed his eyes, pulled Dean in tight, embracing him like there would never be another tomorrow.

"_Heaven."_


End file.
